Little Fall of Rain
by Mimmzie
Summary: AU: after the War, Draco Malfoy was convicted and sent to Azkaban. Harry Potter only saw the boy once again. Contains self-harm, suicide, and major character death. Drarry (sort of, I guess).


Trigger warning: mentions of self-harm, suicide, and major character death.

* * *

"Mr. Potter? Please follow me."

Harry nodded slowly when he got up from his seat and followed the guard towards the cell block.

He was not sure why he was here, why he had decided to visit him. They were enemies, they hated each other, Harry had almost killed him years ago, but he had felt the need to pay him a visit for the last few months.

He had to go. He had to see him.

He tried to ignore the cries for help and the pained moans that filled the halls of Azkaban, the cold atmosphere, the cloud of darkness around him. Even all those years after the dementors had left the prison, their presence could still be felt.

In this building, no happy feeling could survive.

No wonder people went crazy in here.

The guard stopped in front of the last cell of the block, motioning for Harry to come closer before opening the door. "Malfoy! You have a visitor."

With one last hesitating look at the guard, Harry entered the cel, slowly walking towards the pale, worn-out figure sitting on the bed.

Draco Malfoy.

"Potter," He whispered when Harry sat down next to him. "The boy who lived." His blond hair was greasy, his skin was sallow. He looked awful, and if his voice hadn't been the same, Harry wouldn't have recognized him.

"Malfoy."

"What are you doing here?" Malfoy asked, closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall.

"I don't know."

"You thought it would be interesting to come here and laugh at me, at what has become of me?" Malfoy's words were harsh, but his voice was soft, tired.

"No," Harry answered, struggling to find the words, "I - I don't know why. I just -"

"I've been in here for five years, Potter, I don't need your sympathy right now. Or ever."

"I'm sorry," Harry said slowly, getting up from the bed and making his way to the door of the cell.

"So am I."

"What for?" Harry asked, a little confused. He turned around to face Malfoy again, who had opened his eyes again and staring at Harry like he was seeing him for the first time.

"Everything." Malfoy answered, looking away. "I made your life miserable because I was jealous."

"Oh. That." Harry shrugged and sighed. "No hard feelings. It was years ago."

Malfoy nodded, his face hidden in the shadows, his voice soft. "It was, but still. Sorry."

"Apologies accepted."

"You should go, Potter. Your wife is probably waiting for you."

"How -"

"Wedding ring," Malfoy answered dryly, looking at Harry for a few seconds before averting his eyes. "Thank you."

Before Harry could ask him what Malfoy would ever thank him for, the door opened.

"Time's up, Mr. Potter."

Before following the guard outside, Harry looked at Malfoy for a few seconds. "Goodbye, Malfoy."

"Goodbye, Harry."

That was the first time Draco Malfoy ever called him by his first name.

* * *

When the story of a convict and a stolen wand, of powerful spells and lost lives, made the first page of the Daily Prophet, when he read it over breakfast, it hurt.

He told Ginny, who only scoffed and shrugged.

He told Ron, who awkwardly patted his back before excusing himself, unsure of what to say.

He told Hermione, who nodded knowingly and hugged him, trying to comfort him.

Harry wasn't even sure why he was upset.

Years had passed since Harry went to see Draco Malfoy, and the other man had only crossed his mind a few times. Now that it was too late, the last time he had seen him kept haunting his mind.

The man kept following him into his dreams. His pale face, his shaking hands, the eyes, drained of all their life and light... and in hindsight, the scars on his wrists and the red stains on his clothes. He should have seen it, he should have known.

Nobody would have cared. Malfoy was a Death Eater, locked up in Azkaban, spending the rest of his life between the four walls of the prison for mistakes he made when he was still a boy. He had had it coming.

Harry would have cared.

If only he had seen.

If only he had known.

* * *

He only needed to contact two people before he was allowed to see Draco Malfoy one last time. Fame wasn't everything, but Harry had to admit that it could come in pretty handy sometimes.

When he entered the room, his hands were shaking, and when he spotted the lifeless body of Draco Malfoy, he felt tears welling up in his eyes. Malfoy looked pale, thin, and about ten times worse than he had done the last time Harry had seen him.

Many people looked peaceful in death, happy even. They looked like they were asleep, waiting for you in their dreams.

Malfoy only looked tiny, a frown on his face, bags under his eyes.

Death didn't suit him.

He walked over to the body and looked at it, fighting back tears. He might have hated the bloke when they were young, but seeing him like this hurt. A lot.

"He left a note, sir."

Harry looked up and glanced at the nurse who was standing next to the door, guarding him, guarding the body. "Where is it?"

The nurse pointed towards the table next to him, and Harry picked up the note, that was stained with blood.

 _I'm sorry._

Somehow, Harry knew it was meant for him.

 _Thank you for caring about me._

A tear fell, mixing with blood and ink as he continued reading.

 _I have always loved you._

He stared into thin air for a few seconds, fighting back sobs.

 _You were never my real enemy._

Harry dropped the note, ignoring it as it fell to the ground. He lifted Malfoy's right hand and examined his wrist closely, tracing the cuts with his fingers, immediately recognizing the spell that had inflicted them.

Sectumsempra.

For enemies.


End file.
